Greece here I come!!!

I did it! I renewed my passport, basically forced my mother to renew hers, and booked a trip to Greece in July 2025!

What took me so long to do this?

Was I waiting for the ‘right time’ – whatever that is.

Other people to coordinate plans with?

Did I think that people wouldn’t be able to get by without me for two weeks?

I’m beginning to understand that it’s not so much that they can’t get by without me, more so that they don’t want to; because when I’m away, they have to step up and be responsible for themselves.

As for coordinating plans – no thanks. I’ve told those around me that I’m not waiting for anything or anyone anymore. These are my plans/booked itinerary and you can work yourself around that or not.

The Italian isn’t coming – he doesn’t think he can take the flight over.

I’ve long since let go of the vision of a life with him as a real married couple.

So, I will move forward making decisions for myself based on my time, energy, mindset, etc.

There’s a few things I will have to do in preparation for this trip in seven months.

The main thing will be hitting the gym to prepare my butt for the long flight and my overall fitness level to be able to go on walks without heaving up a lung.

Not gonna lie – I also want to look good in goddess dresses and a swimsuit.

Let the countdown begin – 202 days to go!

I’ve come to the realization that I am an alcoholic.

I think on some level I’ve known this for some time but I haven’t really acknowledged it because I’m not like my father who was a career alcoholic.

Let me explain.

My father would drink morning, noon, and night. He couldn’t function without a drink no matter what kind, beer, wine, hard liquor, as long as it was booze it was in play.

I remember one time in particular when I was 16, a while after my parents had separated, my mother told me that he was coming to visit as he had many times done before.

By this point, I had the process down pat.

My father would come in to the apartment, go straight to the bar, which was really just an end table with some wine and liquor on it, open the Ouzo, take a drink and slump on the couch.

Only then would he be able to have a ‘conversation’ with us, which would be nothing more than slurred musings about the old days and asking us if we were proud to have his last name. And then he’d pass out on the couch while we ate dinner. 

He would come to at some point and then leave.

I was sick of it. I was sick of him coming over just to get his free drink on and make us feel like it didn’t really matter if we were there or not. As long as the alcohol was there, he was happy. 

I decided to teach him a lesson so I dumped the Ouzo down the kitchen drain, replaced it with tap water, and placed the bottle back on the ‘bar’.

When he arrived that evening there were no deviations to the choreography, at least not initially:

• two steps in the doorway
• stop
• look around
• lock eyes with the Ouzo
• smile at the Ouzo
• take 20 steps to the Ouzo
• pick up the bottle and twist off the top
• pour the first shot into a glass
• shoot it back
• relax…wait…what?

And this is where the choreography deviated – like took a hard left off a cliff.

His nose crinkled like he just got a big whiff of rotten garbage.

He looked at the bottle, looked at the glass. Sniffed the glass and then sniffed the bottle. 

Any glee that was on his face was now gone, gone, gone. 

He put both the glass and bottle down and headed for the door.

And I said, “so you can’t come over and sit with your family for dinner without the Ouzo? You come here just to drink and fall asleep on the couch.” 

He left without saying a word and he didn’t come over again.

My mother didn’t know what had happened because it happened so fast. I told her what I had done and she laughed out loud. I think she was proud of me but also a bit upset because the Ouzo wasn’t cheap.

I can’t speak for my brothers, but I grew up believing that alcohol was the answer to everything.

Happy times? Celebrate with alcohol.

Sad times? Numb it with alcohol.

Tuesday? Alcohol.

Although I don’t wake up in the morning craving alcohol, I’ve never been drunk or hungover at work, I’ve never had a drink at a work function, and I’ve never had a drink if I knew I was going to be driving, whenever something really upsets/triggers me, my first thought is “I could really use a drink to make this go away.”

However, for the past several months, I’ve been able to stop and think about the aftermath of using alcohol to cope. Foggy, groggy, unfocused thinking, upset stomach, and all the fun liver issues that come with over consumption of alcohol.

The thoughts of wanting that drink and the triggering factors are still there, I’ve just been able to delay the action of taking the drink until the feeling passes. 

And yes, it does eventually pass. I know this is not true for everyone; it’s just the way it is for me.

My father drank because he felt he lost something when he left Greece to become a ‘family man’. He turned himself into a victim and everyone else and every other circumstance in his life were villains. He couldn’t see any way out of it.

I’m beginning to recognize that I have a similar ‘woe is me’ mentality and I really want to try and break any generational trauma still lingering in my DNA from my father and my mother as well; guilt trips are my mother’s specialty. But that’s for another time.

I just have to keep reminding myself that I am a grown up person with the ability to make my own decisions for my own life. 

When I lived in the Beaches area of Toronto, I took time to walk around the neighbourhood or along the boardwalk at the lake. Or just sit on a park bench by the water and people watch. Say hi to all the dogs.

One of my favourite things to do was go to the Island and explore. 

Any random Saturday or Sunday or day off from work, I would be on that ferry bright and early heading over to Centre Island to take pictures or just sit and look at the City from across the water.

I don’t take pictures any more and walking mostly happens when I have to get somewhere. I’m trying to take at least one day per week for myself but it’s not easy to get back to myself.

Since moving to this area of town, I stopped doing all of the things that made me happy.

It’s difficult to describe but those parts of me that found comfort, peace, joy in activities for their own sake, have been stripped away.

But it didn’t happen all at once. 

No. 

It has been a slow death. The kind you don’t realize is happening until you wake up one day and don’t recognize the person in the mirror staring back at you.

The cells my body have been altered and have adapted to this existence and now when I try to do the things which used to come so naturally to me, my mind can create the path to joy but my body rebels and rejects the joy.

When I do venture out on my ‘me’ days I begin to feel queasy and off centre because I’m always cognizant of the limited time I have.

I know I need some sort of life overhaul but where to start?

I’ve been seeing something on one of the social media platforms about a stone called moldavite. Moldavite was created when meteorites hit the earth and the impact instantly melted the rock and soil it hit; then that material cooled when it got tossed into the air by the force of the impact. 

It’s supposed to cause a great upheaval in one’s life. Like it will tear everything down, anything in your life that isn’t serving you, in order to rebuild to something better, but the tear-down definitely has to happen first.

The thing is, you just don’t know what parts of your life will crumble. Could be your job, your car, your relationship, you might be forced to shave your head or change your hair colour. 

Could be anything.

And wouldn’t happen slowly either. Nope. It’s reported to happen quickly; like start your day as usual, and then by the end of the day, the shit meets the oscillating fan. 

I know not everyone believes that crystals, rocks, plants, water, etc. can affect any change in one’s life, but I do believe that all natural things possess certain properties that can make a person feel better or worse simply by being around them.

And I don’t mean that in a supernatural, other-worldly, or other-dimensional sort of way. I mean it quite literally and on a physical level in the here and now.

If you think about it, every natural thing on earth runs on their own frequencies or vibrations, even humans. And I believe that these properties of the natural world can affect the experience of the human body.

I know I always feel better, calmer, more at ease, free, when I am near a large body of water. And if it’s the ocean, then I am completely at peace and in my version of heaven.

It has been proven that crystals vibrate based on their geometry and composition and the electricity or energy that they are exposed to. 

So I don’t think it’s a stretch to believe that something like moldavite could vibrate on a level which could cause change in the environment around you and then cause further change in other circumstances around you and so on; like ripples in water.

It could very well be a catalyst for change, considering how it was created, but I’m not sure I’m ready for it right now.

I’ve lost so much control over my life and I guess I want a bit of that control back.

I’m not one of those people who answer with “surprise me” when somebody asks them what they want from the fridge. I want to be prepared for anything and I want to know what I’m in for.

It’s not all doom and gloom though.

Something positive that is happening right now is that the Italian has reconnected with the children. It’s limited but it’s still happening.

Hopefully they’ll start to visit their father and grandmother again but if a condition of them visiting was that I couldn’t be at the house, then I’d make sure I wasn’t at the house when they arrived and I wouldn’t return until the visit was over.

No matter what I think of them or their whore mother, if it makes the Italian happy then I’m keeping my mouth shut about it.

The last three months have really brought out the true nature of those around me. And mine as well.

I don’t recall if I’ve mentioned this before but last year I was diagnosed with ADHD and ASD or Autism Spectrum Disorder.

Having the diagnosis of these two disorders, has made it clear that I’ve been suppressing certain behaviours and quirks for my entire life because others would say or think that I wasn’t ‘normal’, it has been really quite exhausting.

I know now that haven’t been my authentic self but how I am I supposed to live authentically when I don’t even really know who I am supposed to be? If I had this knowledge at an earlier age, would things have turned out differently in my life?

I feel like I’ve been just existing as a tool for others to use when they wanted, like a broom or a shovel, and not really living so I’ve started to prioritize myself and getting on a path to making my life what I want it to be.

Well, I don’t think the Italian’s family are happy of my suddenly becoming aware that I am not a broom.

One Saturday the Italian’s mother asked if I would mow the lawn, which is something I’ve had no problem doing. I had plans to see my mother so I told the Italian’s mother that I didn’t know what time I would be back so I would mow the lawn the next day if it didn’t rain.

She went ballistic, started pulling at her hair, and said that she would hire somebody to do it.

I am not the one to play these games with so I said “ok then hire somebody”, and I left to go to visit my mother. 

I’ve told the Italian, many times, that if somebody asks me to do something and I agree, then that person should step aside and let me do the thing because once I agree to it, I understand that it is my responsibility. 

Don’t micro-manage, don’t continue to ask me if I’m going to do the thing, or if I’ve done the thing, or tell me how to do the thing. And certainly do not tell me that I have to do it because the neighbour did it because that’s the surest way to not get it done.

Step the fuck away from the thing because if you don’t and you keep nagging me about it, then I will give the thing back to you and it once again becomes your responsibility and you can do with it what ever you like with no further input from me.

About a week later, the Italian and I were out for a drive and when we returned, there was somebody mowing the lawn and that was that.

The Italian told me that his mother was going to pay this person $40 per week to mow the lawn and that it was expensive. I asked him if he had ever heard the term ‘fuck around and find out’ because his family is now in the finding out stage of the game.

But wait there’s more…

The Italian’s middle brother was at the house one day with his spouse and they were helping the Italian’s mother with something in the garage.

The Italian asked his brother, if he would install a security camera pointing to the driveway and his brother said, “Why don’t you ask your wife to do it? What is she here for anyway?”

Um…now what now? 

Turns out, the Italian’s mother was telling whoever would listen that I refused to do anything around the house, that I just sat around all day, and that on Sundays I would leave the house to spend all day downtown.

When the Italian told me this I was livid. 

First of all, it’s nobody’s business what I choose to do with the one day per week that I have to myself.

Second of all, see ‘first of all’ above.

The Italian asked if I would stay at the house on one particular Sunday because everybody was coming over for lunch and I agreed.  

The Italian’s sister didn’t show up saying that she had another appointment that day.

The Italian’s oldest brother, his wife (the Alcoholic) and their daughter arrived first and we were all sitting in the living room chatting. 

The middle brother and his spouse arrived next and when they came in neither one even acknowledged that I was there.

When they sat beside me on the couch and the middle brother’s spouse turned her back to me – that was it for me and I kept my mouth shut for the rest of the afternoon.

The middle brother’s spouse is not particularly bright and I think she really thought she did something clever.

There was not enough room at the dining room table for me so I ate lunch by myself in the kitchen while the rest of them had a lovey Sunday family lunch. Afterwards I sat with everyone in the living room while they chatted and I didn’t say one word.

Later, after everyone had left, I told the Italian what his middle brother’s spouse did even though I didn’t do anything to deserve that treatment, certainly not from her. I also told him that I would never again attend one of these Sunday lunches so he shouldn’t ask me to.

So now here we are at the last day of June 2024.

I left the house early. The sooner I get out of here the better even though I know I will eventually have to return.

Today happened to be the Pride Parade in Toronto and one of Kensington Market’s pedestrian Sundays where they close down the streets to vehicles and it just this huge street fair. There was music and food and dancing in the streets and people selling their crafts. I loved being there; I was smiling the whole time.

And now I’m back here at the house. The Italian’s middle brother and his spouse are here once again and once again I’m being ignored.

And once again, not smiling.

I didn’t start the year with hopes of change or any great expectations. I’ve learned my lesson.

This neighbourhood, this life, simply existing here in this space, has broken my spirit.

I did have a trip to visit family in Cali in February and I am so grateful that they always welcome me with open arms and never ask anything of me.

To me this trip felt like the parts of the subway system in Toronto (where I live) that are above ground.

Most of the subway system is underground for long stretches at a time and then suddenly, daylight!

You know when these breaks will occur but you look forward to them as if you had only ever heard of them and never experienced them yourself.

And for those brief intervals, you look up from your phone or open your eyes from your subway nap, and take in as much you can; trees, buildings, cars, people walking their dogs, or sitting on park benches drinking a coffee…life…and you are part of it, if only as an observer.

And then just as suddenly, you are back in the stagnant, suffocating darkness and no longer a part of the life going on above ground.

About a week or so before my trip, the Italian’s mother slipped on some black ice on the road just outside of the house and ended up in hospital with a broken pelvis and fractured shoulder.

I booked the February trip to Cali almost immediately after I returned from the last trip out there, and frequently spoke about how much I was looking forward to going again, so it shouldn’t have been any great surprise to any one that I actually went.

However, I believe the Italian’s sister had some thoughts about it because I actually felt the animosity coming from her and still do. It’s like how you can feel humidity on your skin just sticking to you, dragging you down, no matter what you.

The night after the Italian’s mother was admitted to hospital, the Italian’s sister came over and started questioning, demanding, accusing.

“The snow has to be shovelled when needed” There was no snow on the ground and I have no problem shovelling snow because it is a safety issue. However, I can’t very well shovel the snow when I’m at work now can I?

“There should have been salt on the driveway”. There was salt on the driveway and she slipped on the road at the corner not on the driveway. “I don’t care it should have been done!” Again, it was done. Nobody told your mother to meet her friend on the corner across the street rather than have her friend come right to the house – like all the other times before.

“The lawn has to be mowed when needed. Just get it done. don’t care if you have to hire someone – it has to be done when it has to be done. I’m tired of this shit!”. Um, it’s February bro. And it’s not a safety issue if the grass isn’t cut. Just because the neighbour cuts his grass at 1:30 pm on a Tuesday doesn’t mean that I am rushing back to this house after work to cut the grass.

I get up between 4am and 4:30 am everyday so that I can get ready and catch that first bus, to then take the subway to get to work at 7am, where I usually work through lunch and barely have time for washroom breaks because of my ever increasing workload.

Then I have to spend another hour or hour and a half after work on transit to get to a neighbourhood and house where I don’t really want to be so that I can then spend another hour or so cutting the grass.

Grass cutting is not a priority for me so I’ll get to it when I get to it. And if that’s not good enough for whoever, then whoever can take care of it and leave me out of it going forward.

“Why are your clothes hanging on the drying line and in bins in the laundry room? Is it because there’s no room in the upstairs closets? Maybe you should get a rack for your clothes.”

Yeah, there’s no room for me upstairs. I did have my clothes in the closet in the spare bedroom but then other clothes started to appear, pushing my items to one side, making it difficult to reach or even see my clothes.

And when I reorganized the closet to put my items towards the front, they somehow ended up at the back again. And the additional clothes were not items that were used daily or at all, by anyone, so I got the message and removed my things.

Also the fact that the vacuum cleaner is stored there, kind of discouraged me from hanging my clothes, that I have to wear to work every day, in that closet. Not sure if you like smelling like vacuum cleaner but I don’t.

Look, I get it. Her 87 year old mother was in hospital with broken bones and in pain. And after seeing the video of her falling from the ring camera, it could have been much worse if she fallen into traffic. So it’s understandable that she would be concerned about her mother.

But I get a feeling that it’s not just about that because her mother was getting the best care and was doing well.

I think it had more to do with the fact that she now had to take notice of her mother. Does that make sense?

After, 11 years of me being at the house and playing caregiver, chauffeur, all around handy person, it was her turn to actually look after her mother.

I get the feeling that she thought of it as a chore.

She had to visit her mother at the hospital every day after work. Mind you, the hospital was about 5 mins from the house and 5 mins from her work location. And the highway is right there, so it’s not like she was forced to go well out of her way.

She could visit with her mother while the rush hour traffic died down or she could stay at the house overnight if the weather was not great or if she didn’t feel like making the 30 min drive to her house.

She had to visit her mother on weekends and that took away her ‘me’ time which usually occurred on weekends. Specific appointments or activities at specific intervals and some of these things had to be put on the back burner for a while.

I’m not slamming anyone for taking time to do whatever makes them feel happy. What I’m saying is, don’t expect me to take over your responsibilities for your mother when I also need some mental health time for myself after spending all week managing others needs.

And yes, I do take time for myself when I can but I also look after my mother who doesn’t live 5 mins from me or my work location.

In fact, when my mother was in a car accident in the early 2000’s and was in hospital in Kingston (about a two hours from Toronto) I was driving there to see her every weekend; both days. Driving there and back on Saturdays and there and back on Sundays.

And if she was in a hospital closer to Toronto, I would have visited her every day no matter what I had going on.

I understand that I am a different person with different experiences, perspectives, outlooks etc., and I don’t expect anyone to handle a situation in the same way that I would, but I also don’t expect anyone to be responsible for the things in my life that are mine to handle.

In January I saw a meme that went:

“There are three places I’m not going this year. Above and beyond, out of my way, and the extra mile.” And I am owning that shit.

I wasn’t about to cancel my trip.

My mother was fine. Two of my brothers who live closer to her than I do, knew they were on deck for Mom duty.

I wasn’t worried about the Italian. He’s a grown man and contrary to popular belief, can actually take care of himself.

He doesn’t drive now, so I asked him what he wanted for groceries and made sure that he had everything on that list and more. He was ok with it so that’s all that mattered to me.

His sister on the other hand, had a problem with it.

Whenever I visit my family in Cali, the Italian and I set aside a specific time daily to video chat so that we don’t go a day without talking to each other or without saying ‘I love you’ before going to bed.

During our conversation on the second night, he told me that his sister had an issue with the fact that most of the groceries were frozen foods. He told her that was because he couldn’t stand for long periods of time, this was what he wanted. He could just put whatever in the oven and sit while it warmed up.

She felt that he should be making fresh pasta salad or turkey wraps for himself everyday and not just warming up frozen foods, which according to her was unhealthy.

Um…now what now?

Either she or her mother took it upon themselves to put the call out to family and friends that the Italian was destitute without food because I had abandoned him to go on vacation.

And their idea of providing healthier food was to…order pizza, or McDonald’s or Burger King, or to bring over cake and cookies.

When I returned almost everything I had purchased was still in the freezer and there was almost an entire cake in the fridge. The grapes and apples were untouched and only some of the tangerines (which I had pre-peeled and separated) were consumed.

The Italian puts one banana per day in his morning smoothies so the bananas were still ok. I made sure to purchase enough of them in various stages of ripeness so the ones that were super green would be just right by the time I got back.

The Italian had so many visitors while I was away. He actually said that he wished people would stop coming by and/or calling to see if he was ok or if he needed anything. He just wanted to be left alone.

I’m grateful that his sister and brothers came by to visit and that he is communicating more with them now about their mother. She is becoming more and more forgetful and they have to have a plan in place in case she needs serious medical supervision.

I have no say in what they decide as a family for their mother.

So, here we are. The Italian’s sister doesn’t even acknowledge that I exist in the house whenever she comes over, but she has yet to tell me what I did wrong or what she believes I did wrong, so I’m happy to stay out of sight.

2023

For the most part, things were looking up for 2023.

Although my company adopted a hybrid work week, I opted to go back to the office 5 days per week. It got me out of the basement, out of the house, and out of that neighbourhood.

Still not a fan of waking up at 4am but if that’s what has to be done for now, then so be it. 

Another birthday came and went for the Italian and another father’s day and still no acknowledgement or contact from the ‘children’. 

I know this hurts him deeply and I hate seeing him hurt like this. Even though he tries not to show it. 

He didn’t do anything to deserve this sort of treatment but their whore mother has done such a number on those ‘children’, there’s probably no going back.

The Italian’s brother went through a similar thing with his son but his ex wasn’t a whore. I’ve met her and she seemed quite genuine. The distance there was purely the decision of his son, and that’s all I know about that.

But he keeps telling the Italian to be patient and they’ll come around. 

I sometimes have sort of day dreams of winning the lottery and buying a big house by the lake with a pool, and lots of bedrooms. Then I would throw a house warming party for family, that the ‘children’ would ‘accidentally’ find out about and show up un announced, only to be turned away by me because the party and the house were for family only.

I know it’s childish and petty but I’m going to let myself have these thoughts every once in a while – it makes me smile.

And nobody can tell me that they’ve never dreamt of having what’s known as ‘fuck-you money’ – there’s a reason it’s called that.

Work was starting to pick up and more and more people were coming back to the office on a regular basis. 

I think, like me, my more seasoned co-workers were growing tired of being in their home offices, basements, spare bedrooms.

The younger crowd still don’t understand that if office spaces aren’t occupied on a regular basis, corporations will start to lean towards money saving methods like getting rid of the brick/mortar office spaces as well as employees. 

Like what happened in our company and our offices.

People who reported to a manager in our office but worked 100% remotely – were let go.

The reception position in our office was eliminated because people weren’t having meetings in the boardrooms in the reception area, and therefore, the receptionist was let go.

However, all of the duties that were the responsibility of the receptionist have now fallen on me sort of by default – because there’s nobody else willing to take on these duties; nobody is willing to do these things for themselves let alone for anyone else.

And with the Italian not working, and will not work again, I need the job. So I continue to do whatever needs to be done in the office so that I don’t become irrelevant – I gots to keep getting paid.

The running joke with people my age is “I’ll retire when I’m dead”- but not really a joke.

One good thing that happened for the Italian is that he finally started receiving disability payments and even two years back pay. This was thanks to the social worker that was assigned to his case. She really showed up for the Italian and I’m so grateful for her. And it also gave the Italian peace of mind – also super grateful for that!

In 2023 I travelled to sunny SoCal to visit family twice! Once with my mother in the early spring and then again on my own in the mid-late summer – at the height of the glorious heat and humidity. 

I highly recommend travelling alone. Not having to worry about anyone else but yourself is an independent introvert’s dream come true. 

By the end of the year, still nothing from the ‘children’ but then I really didn’t expect very much.

To be honest, the next two years were a blur so there won’t be much to write about.

There was nothing we could do to break up the monotony of having to stay indoors when we would normally be out and about.

No sporting events. No date nights. No large family gatherings.

There was nothing we could do that would be memorable except for maybe getting vaccinated over and over again. But if it meant that I could visit with my family and that everyone was safe, I would get vaccinated as many times as I had to.

Meetings with the lawyers and/or court dates continued to be conducted over the phone or over zoom. Which was fine – I didn’t really want to be in the same room with the whore and her whore husband anyway.

I continued to work in the basement and the Italian took the conference calls upstairs in the bedroom with the door closed so that his mother would’t interrupt.

When I went to my mother’s place with her groceries, I stayed in the hallway at first and made sure she was wearing a mask when she opened the door. I got her mail, delivered the groceries, dropped off the previous week’s laundry, picked up the current laundry, made sure she was ok, and then I left.

It wasn’t until the start of 2021 that I was able to go into my mother’s apartment – mask on of course – for super brief visits.

For thanksgiving, xmas, and birthdays, I took my mom to each of my brother’s homes for a few minutes and we all stayed outside, masked up and 6 feet apart.

It was late November 2022 when the Italian’s Mother contracted COVID. After almost 3 years of me successfully keeping it out of the house because of her pre-existing respiratory conditions, she brought it to us following a bus trip to a casino with some other seniors from the neighbourhood. We told her it wasn’t safe but she went anyway.

She didn’t tell us that she felt sick. She eventually complained about headaches and that she was tired.

By this time, the drug stores were giving out free COVID test kits and I had a stack of them so I gave her the test and that dreaded second line popped up right away.

I texted the Italian’s Sister right away and the funny thing was, she didn’t seem very concerned. Anyway, she and her husband got it too. They came over one night before the Italian’s Mother tested positive and they sat around with no masks – so yeah, the gift that kept on giving.

The Italian got it before I did and both he and his mother were staying upstairs while I remained in the basement and if either of them had to come to the basement for any reason, it was masks on for everybody and I hid in the bathroom.

My Middle Bro got it shortly after, then my mother got it shortly after that, and then my Little Bro got it. It was bad for him so once again I slipped into the ‘meals on wheels’ role for anything he needed.

We all came through it relatively unscathed and grateful that we were some of the lucky ones.

But the hardest thing about 2022 was saying goodbye to our dear Georgie.

One night I was in the basement, keeping my distance from the Italian and his mother because of the COVID when I received an urgent text from the Italian. Just one word – GEORGE!

I ran up the stairs to find the poor little guy in a seizure condition. He’d had seizure’s before and they were becoming more frequent with shorter periods in between, but they never lasted more than a few seconds. He wasn’t coming out of this one and it was too much for his little body to take.

The Italian and I drove to an emergency vet downtown and they were able to make him comfortable for a little while. It was one of the hardest decisions I had to make and it broke my heart, but I couldn’t let him continue to suffer as there was no guarantee that it would get any better for him.

Even now, more than a year later, I can’t really bring myself to think about it in any detail or for too long.

One of the better things that happened in 2022 was that we finally settled the court proceedings with the whore.

The whore initially claimed that the Italian wasn’t paying any child support…whatsoever…but we had the receipts/texts/emails/bank statements, that he did, in fact, pay whatever she asked for whenever she asked for it. All he wanted in return was a.) to know that his children were ok, and b.) copies of receipts for anything he was paying for.

The judge made it clear that the whore wasn’t going to get nearly what she set out to get in the first place and after paying her legal fees, she got nothing. In fact, she may have even had to pay out of pocket and that was worth every penny I spent on our legal fees.

I mean I agree that the Italian should have to pay for some things for his children, but not extravagant trips to Europe that have nothing to do with their education or daily living, or things that he wasn’t even notified about until well after the fact.

And certainly not bullshit items like $600 per month for groceries…for the girl child…who was living at the whore’s house while getting her education remotely

When we said that we would only agree to paying for a portion of the girl child’s grocery bill if the Italian was given copies of the grocery receipts, the whore dropped this request.

The whore’s slimy whore lawyer, then came up with, ‘hey let’s make him pay for your internet and cable bill because the ‘children’ need the internet for their education.

To which I said fuck that, and we told them that we were prepared to fight every request which would benefit any bodies in that household that were not the Italian’s ‘children’.

The judge agreed, and although he was very diplomatic about it, he made sure that the whore and her whore lawyer knew that their motives were quite clear and that he did not appreciate it.

The downside to the end of the legal battle is that the ‘children’ stopped coming to the house. Well, downside for the Italian and his Mother but not for me.

It just made it all the more clear to me that they were only coming by the house to see if they could guilt he Italian into giving their whore mother everything she was demanding. When that didn’t work, they stopped visiting.

They were, and are, nothing to me.

Oh 2020…you stupid bitch of a year.

This year didn’t start out with any hope of great things to come.

We had court dates, filings, calls with lawyers and angry/hateful texts from the whore, for the foreseeable future.

One good thing about living with family, and for which I am so grateful, is not having to pay rent or a mortgage. This is the main reason I was able to pay the legal fees. Sure, I wasn’t able to save as much as I had wanted, but we wouldn’t be bankrupt either and I think this aggravated the whore.

When the pandemic hit and the lockdowns started, I was really close to a breaking point. I thought that working from home (it still gives me the ‘ick’ to call that place home) would allow me to relax because I wouldn’t have to be up at 4am everyday or take the TTC at 6am everyday to get to work.

We were allowed to take whatever we needed from the office in order to work remotely. Monitors, laptop docking stations, stationery, etc.

I set up my work space in a corner of the basement with all of the things that I needed to do my work. And it was fine.

I was able to wake up at a decent hour, not have to rush to catch the bus. I could walk George throughout the day and sit with him when I took my breaks. I think he liked it; I know I did.

I had the office mail redirected so that it came to the house instead of the office and I made sure I had enough FedEx supplies so that I could courier any letters or packages as required.

I don’t think the Italian’s mother quite got the idea that I was actually working. Whenever I was on a conference call or trying to focus on a project, she would stand nearby, listening and waiting until the call was done to tell me some random thing about what she just saw on the Italian game shows she watches, or to inform me of something that a neighbour was doing.

Look, I get it. She didn’t really know what I did for work and still doesn’t. But, the Italian did tell her that I was not to be bothered between 7am and 4pm because I was working. However, telling her something and her actually understanding it are two very separate things.

The Italian had been laid off from work again and he was sinking into a deep depression. I told him not to worry about money because I could handle things for a while. He was ok with that but the depression came more from the way the ‘children’ were treating him than anything else.

He tried to contact them but they would not return his calls or texts.

He reached out to the whore to ask about his ‘children’ but she wouldn’t assist in any way saying that she could’t make them do anything they didn’t want to do and that they could make up their own minds and that he should have thought about that before he started the court proceedings.

Ah – there it was – payback for not allowing her to step all over him.

One summer day the Italian’s sister decided to contact the ‘children’ to see how they were doing, to make sure they were staying safe, and to ask if they could reach out to their father because he was feeling really low. And to also reach out to their grandmother because she was asking about them and they didn’t return her calls either.

Oh boy! This started an epic text battle between the Italian’s sister and the ‘children’, who, by the way, were 19 and 16 years old at this time.

The Italian’s sister texted me to call her asap and to make sure that the Italian wasn’t around. So I went to another room and stayed on the line with her as she read out the exchange from the group text to me.

The below is a paraphrased version of what she conveyed to me as I remember it:

The Italian’s Sister: Hey kids, hope you guys are doing ok and staying safe. We miss seeing you but hopefully this will be over soon and we can get together. I just want to give you a big hug.

‘Children’: hey

The Italian’s Sister: Are you guys ok. Is everyone safe?

‘Children’: sure

The Italian’s Sister: Ok – hey could you guys do me a favour and call your dad? He’s feeling a little depressed and you contacting him would go a long way to help him feel better.

‘Children’: why do we have to call him, why can’t he call us?

The Italian’s Sister: Well, he’s been texting and calling, leaving messages but you haven’t called him back.

It was at this point I knew that the whore was deleting the Italian’s messages and texts to his ‘children’. They have a family plan and she gets all the texts the ‘children’ get and she has access to their voice mail too.

The Italian’s Sister: Um, the texts that he sent are still on his phone and all the times he called you are still on his phone. That’s weird you didn’t get them.

And this is about where it escalated.

‘Children’: whatever, why should we call him when he hasn’t been a father to us.

The Italian’s Sister: When was he ever given a chance to be a father to you? All you ever did was treat him and the rest of this family like shit.

It went on back and forth and at one point the Italian’s Sister told them that if anything ever happened to her brother or to her mother, they had better not even come near her.

Then the girl child said something that triggered a memory for me from the recent court documents and I knew that the Italian’s Sister was texting with the whore, posing has her ‘children’. So I told her as much and I said that I doubt if she was ever texting with the ‘children’. I think it was the whore all this time.

Then, whoever was on the other end of this battle said that the only way they would visit with their father and grandmother is if I was not at the house because everything was my fault.

Why exactly? Because, I showed the Italian that he had every right to stand up for himself and that I would back him up and support him? Because, the whore wasn’t going to be able to keep taking and taking from him and wouldn’t be able to enrich her life and the lives of those in her household that had nothing to do with the Italian?

Or…maybe it’s because the whore knew that I would not keep quiet about what she did.

Probably a little bit of everything.

The Italian’s Sister replied that I had done nothing wrong and I’ve only ever been supportive and kind to everyone. She noted to the boy child that when he was visiting with his dad, I was the one would would interact with him because he said that he was ignored in his house. She noted to the girl child that whenever we all went out together, I made sure that she wasn’t using her own money for any purchases, clothes, shoes, makeup, whatever she wanted.

She also told them that if they wanted to know what happened between their parents and who was at fault, they should ask their mother. And if they wanted to know the actual truth, they could ask anyone on their father’s side of the family.

When the Italian’s Sister mentioned “the truth”, the replies from the whore and her ‘children’ stopped and some time later – I think it was a day or two, the Italian’s Sister received a text seemingly from the boy child’s phone stating that she was “never to contact my children again!”

So yeah, it was the whore the whole time.

So after all this, the ‘children’ did come by to visit (with masks on) but I made sure that I was not around. I didn’t want to stand in the way of the Italian and his mother being able to visit with them.

One day the Italian told me that they would be visiting and I said, no problem, I’ll make sure that I’m not around. He asked if I would please stay for him and the look in his face broke my heart.

I told him that actually, I was leaving the house for him. That I knew his children didn’t want me around and that they wouldn’t come by if I was there. I didn’t provide any other information and to this day, I don’t think he knows of what went down between the whore, her children and his sister.

For the rest of the year we managed to stay healthy and we kept COVID out of the house.

The Italian’s mother was going stir-crazy, not understanding why she couldn’t go to ‘the club’ (the community centre) or out to visit with her friends.

It was a tough time for the entire world and we were all just trying to keep each other safe. I still had to go grocery shopping for us and for my mother. And when my younger brother got COVID, I took care of his groceries as well – at least as much as he would let me. All the while wearing a mask, latex gloves, and staying 6 feet apart from others.

We couldn’t wait for the year to finally end and looked forward to whatever 2021 had in store.

2018 was supposed to be a fantastic year. The year of my 50th birthday. I made a plan to do 50 things that I had never done before and it started out ok. I think I got to about 27 things. Small things – nothing like skydiving or swimming with sharks. Just things that were meaningful to me. But I was still going through such a depressive time that I lost the motivation to do anything for myself so I never finished the list.

One of the things I wanted to do was have a family bbq. It wasn’t supposed to be a bday bash for me although, as it turned out, most were only available on the day after my bday.

I cleaned up a portion of the garden in the back yard that wasn’t being used – it was all just overgrowth and random weeds etc. – and I created a bocce court. A really small one but it was supposed to be a fun thing that everyone could do.

I spent so much time clearing and levelling the area and I purchased astro turf for the area. It was great, or at least I though it was. 

Anyways, the Italian’s ‘children’ said they would come and that they were looking forward to it, and then the Saturday before the bbq, they told us that the whore surprised them with a trip to Jamaica. She had a few different dates to choose from and she happened to choose the family bbq day randomly.  Sure Jan.

The Italian purchased a great patio umbrella that everyone could sit under. I spent about $600 on food, making sure that there was something for everyone, games for my nephews, soda pop, juice, beer etc. for the adults. Nothing and no-one was overlooked.

I was up at 4am getting as much of the food ready as I could. Slicing tomatoes, onions, pickles, lettuce. My mother decided to assist with making the dessert and I don’t know why but whenever somebody ‘helps’ me with anything I’m baking, it never works out. So we didn’t have any dessert.

Everyone was to arrive around 11 am and we could just sit in the back yard and enjoy the beautiful summer day.

Nope.

My family enjoyed the backyard and the activities I had planned. My nephews were happy to run around in the sun and it made me happy to watch them.

The Italian’s side of the family spent the entire time sitting in the garage on fold out chairs and boxes. My friend since high school showed up 4 hours late, as usual, and most of the food was gone and everyone was leaving.

Except for my nephews enjoying themselves, it was a disaster, and in a way I was glad that the Italian’s ‘children’ weren’t there because then they would just report back to the whore about what a tragic day it was.

So, I decided that I would never arrange any thing like this again. And to this day, I don’t even use the back yard except to mow the lawn.

And to top off an already dismal start to the summer, we were hit with another flood. 

I was in bed early that night as I had an event to attend the next day and I wanted to be at my best. Just as I was drifting off, I heard the Italian call my name and I rushed to the basement thinking that he slipped or was in some sort of distress.

The basement was flooding.

I tried to grab as much as I could and put things up on higher surfaces but a lot of my things were already ruined. And I know it’s just stuff but it’s stuff that others gave me as gifts and I value these things above things that I purchased for my self.

I was crying, screaming to any entity that would listen about how much I hated the neighbourhood, cursing the neighbourhood, which I still do every time I walk out of the door or return from being out’n’about.

There was no consoling me.

I did not sleep that night but the next day I went to the event and pushed through.

The ‘event’ btw was my Zumba Instructor Licence training, which was one of the things on my list of 50 things to do. So, yeah…I’m a licensed Zumba Instructor now.

The Italian’s mother, neglected to tell us that since the last flood, she declined additional insurance coverage because it would cost $2 more per month to be fully covered for damages to any furniture, appliances, clothing etc. She didn’t even ask if I would pay for the additional coverage. Of course I would have paid! So because of this, I told the Italian that she would have to replace the furniture I lost and all the appliances.

This time It only took 7 months for the basement repairs but my hatred of living here continues. I know we’re supposed to act/live like we have everything we could ever want and be happy and content…blah, blah, blah, in order sway the universal algorithm to our advantage and attract the good stuff but – damn – enough already.

The rest of the 2018 was meh. 2019 is when the shit really hit the fan.

The start of 2019 was the same as any other year. Full of hope and promise and plans and goals. And we started, or at a least I started, to make plans to leave the ghetto, as I call it.

But the whore had other plans.

In the early spring, the Italian received a notice in the mail from the Provincial government body which regulates family matters such as child support payments etc. As it turns out, the whore decided that she wanted to try to make our lives miserable by lying to the government when the Italian questioned some of the expenses she claims to have made for the ‘children’.

She contacted the provincial government body and told them the the Italian hadn’t been making any child support payments so he received a notice that he was about $12K in arrears. 

Did if flip out?. Yes. 

Was the whore now in a fuck around and find out situation? Also, yes.

We contacted a lawyer asap and I agreed to pay the legal fees. They served her with a court filing the very next week. 

The whore was not happy. She didn’t count on me and the lengths I would go to to protect my family.

I took time off from work to go to the courts with the Italian. I made sure that any information I recounted about the whore and her children to our lawyers was included in the records so that the judge knew exactly who and what we were dealing with. 

During one court appearance, we were waiting outside of the court room and the whore’s lawyer was speaking loudly enough so that we could ‘overhear’ him telling her that the Italian would have to pay all legal fees after all is said and done. Clearly this was meant as an intimidation tactic.

Not that his display was particularly subtle, I mean anyone could have seen what he was up to, so I decided that I would play a little game of my own and when the Italian went to the men’s room, I ‘took a call’ from a friend of mine.

I made sure that I was close enough to the whore and her whore husband and their whore lawyer when I said, “I don’t know if the children know that she was cheating for years before she settled on her current baby daddy. If they don’t know, maybe it’s time they did. And if they do know but still treat their father like shit, then they all deserve each other.” I then gave all of them the ‘it’s on bitch’ stare and walked away.

After that there was no more talk of who’s paying for who’s legal fees.

There was a lot of back and forth about what it was that the Italian had to pay for and of course he wanted to support his children, but he also wanted to know what was going on in their lives. He didn’t want to be treated as just a wallet/bank account. And he didn’t want to be blindsided by random expenses which may or may not have been legitamate.

Throughout the court process, the whore continued to make unreasonable demands, like she thought the Italian should continue to support the ‘children’ until at least 6 months after they turned 23 or finished their education. The judge was gentle about it but denied this request in a way that clearly indicated he though it was ridiculous to even ask for this.

In the end, I believe the judge saw through everything and for the most part ruled in the Italian’s favour; but it did take a while, like two more years.

2016/2017

At the start of 2016 I began searching through Realtor.ca for rentals. It was time to start our married life…on our own.

I knew we couldn’t afford to purchase – mortgage payments were not the issue, as it is for most, coming up with the downpayment was the issue. 

I was paying the household bills; car payments, groceries, cell phones, cable/internet, etc. I was also paying ‘rent’ to the Italian’s mother because we were living in her house, using up water and electricity etc. And yes we did have to sort of force her to take it – that’s just how European families are – it’s a “my house is your house” mentality with family. I foolishly thought that paying rent would somehow provide us with privacy or autonomy within the household. NOPE. That’s another European trait – all children who enter this house will be treated like children…forever, and ever, and ever (picture the twins from The Shining) And the Italian was obligated to continue with child support payments to the whore as well as various sundry expenses for the ‘children’.

Now, even though the whore and her whore husband regularly kept the children from the Italian and his side of the family and actively encouraged their mistreatment of their father; even with that behaviour, the Italian’s criteria for our home included must have items that would make it welcoming for his children. 

The Italian’s criteria:

1. A pool – because they wanted one
2. A second bedroom – so either of them could stay over whenever they wanted
3. It had to be near a highway so that he could easily get to work or travel to pick up his children for visits
4. A gym in the building
5. Parking in the building. No street parking for his lordship.

My criteria:

1. A dishwasher
2. Pet friendly because we had George at the time
3. Close to downtown so that I didn’t have to take the subway or so that I could walk to/from work if I had to
4. Close to at least 1 grocery store so that I wouldn’t have to drive to pick up groceries
5. Lots of windows

The neighbourhood where we focused our search was just west of the city and close to the lake, on the streetcar line, two minutes to the highway, had three major grocery stores within walking distance, a vet and a groomer within walking distance for George. And did I mention that it was near the lake? Also, it was affordable – but…

After months of looking at condos and being outbid on all of them, yes OUTBID…for a rental, the Italian lost his job.

He called me right after it happened. I was at work and looking forward to another condo viewing that afternoon. I was stunned and heartbroken, and angry, and so many other things that day. I stepped in to a quiet room in the office, closed the door and cried.

Here’s the thing – I know that I live in a first world country and that I am very fortunate to have the things and opportunities that I have, but I still cried when the life I thought I would have with my husband was not going to happen.

So, I told our real estate agent that we we were no longer in the market for a rental and I stopped looking. One day the Italian asked why we weren’t looking at condo’s anymore. He said that because he received a severance as well as health benefits for another year, we could move and he could take his time looking for a new job. Yay! The next day I called the agent and we were back in business. It wasn’t long (like a week) before I found two condos for rent each with everything we wanted. We had to bid higher than the asking rental price (again…bidding on rental :/) but we managed to secure the lease on a two bed, two bath, parking included, light drenched, south facing condo with awesome views of the lake. I mean we could see clear across the lake to Niagara Falls! I was so happy. 

We moved in the fall of 2016 and the Italian’s mother was not happy that we were leaving. In fact, I said that we could leave George with her during the week if she wanted but she refused because she was angry, which was fine by me. I didn’t really trust her with him anyway. She was becoming forgetful, leaving pots on the stove and falling asleep with things in the oven, not filling George’s water dish with fresh water or letting it dry out altogether and leaving him on the porch without his leash when she knew he was a flight risk. Yeah, better that he came with us.

The children visited often and the Italian was happy about that. The boy child never stayed overnight – stretching the umbilical that far for that long was too painful for him, but the girl child stayed a few times. She said that her family was ‘bonkers’ and she needed to get away from them. She even stayed with us for Christmas in 2016! I think this is where I started to become the WickedStepMother – at least in the whore’s mind. Her girl child, wanted to stay with the Italian and me, and my mother, for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and boxing day.

Those last few months of 2016 were awesome and 2017 was looking bright. We were in our own space. We painted the walls the colours we wanted, placed our furniture where we wanted to, and there was nobody to say boo about it. We were making our own decisions as a couple.

We invited the Italian’s mother over so many times but she only ever came once with the Italian’s sister. My family were over all the time. My mother stayed over, we hosted holiday meals, but only my family showed up. My family from out west even stayed over instead of staying in a hotel for a whole week.

I was walking everyday. Walking by the lake, walking to groceries, walking home from work. Walking in the sunshine, the rain, snow, whatever the weather. I was losing weight, my skin was a normal colour again. My hair stopped falling out. I was so happy.

However, once 2017 was up and running, it became clear that we would not be able to stay. The Italian needed hip surgery and would require supervision afterwards. So, by the end of August, 2017 we started packing everything up again and began the process of moving it all back to the house. Back to the neighbourhood that pummelled me, physically (I gained 45 lbs), emotionally (I cried everyday and still do), mentally (dark thoughts always…still).

The Italian’s mother was so happy and wouldn’t take a dime from us for rent. This time I was ok with it; I wasn’t about to pay to have my privacy invaded. I would still pay for all of the groceries, gas, cell phones and any outings with the Italian.

I was in a deep depression for rest of 2017 and haven’t been able to claw my way out of it since. Again, I understand how privileged I am, but I’m still allowed to want the things that I want for my life.

I hoped 2018/2019 would bring happier times but…no.